Lionheart
by PersephoneQ
Summary: Tony Before enjoyed the quiet, open spaces. Tony After didn't enjoy much of anything. Steve Before enjoyed a lot of the things Tony Before did. Steve After...wasn't actually that different at all. Which is maybe why Tony thinks bothering him is the best road back home. Stony.


Lionheart

* * *

It's quiet. Quiet in a way Tony never thought it would be again.

The car doesn't make noise when he drives it, the plates don't crack when he drops them at dinner, and when Steve comes in and cleans them up, not a word leaves his mouth. He can't hear the sirens when the ambulance passes by or the bell above Pauli's Pastries and the dog never barks loud enough to bother anybody.

It's strange. Tony would be hard pressed to call it nice, but he didn't think he'd ever be able to say it was a bad thing either. It reminds him of his father, a man he'd hated for as long as he knew him, and of the time before he'd became that man.

After so long living with a man who barely seemed to exist at all, silence had become Tonys element. His own chamber. It was home, and when that man had gone, he took his place. And he saw that it was one that his father had lived in alone.

His fathers world was loud, arrogant, harsh. It was crowded with people who were all the same, but all stood out. It was competitive and for a while Tony thought he fit in, drinking like his father, talking like his father, laughing like his father. But when he got home, he was surrounded by that quietness again. It reminded him of what he was before-a thinker, a reader, a jogger. He liked the quiet, he liked the space, and he liked the people he shared it with.

But as he delved farther into his fathers work, and alternatively his world, that changed. The loudness followed him home and stole his quiet. The spaces he coveted filled up with people and reporters and files and files. And the people. The people he'd shared with and lived with and _loved_ with. Why, they all left. Couldn't handle the man Tony had become any more than Tony had been able to, back when that man had still existed. Only the lowliest man and woman that Tony had had stayed, the ones who he'd considered "brash" and "fake" before. They hadn't changed, but Tony had. Suddenly, these were just the people he'd been searching for.

Everything Tony had loved and treasured had disappeared with his father, the day he'd died. It left a hole in Tony and since that day he'd been trying to fill it. He'd yet to come by anything that stayed. Not liquor, not progress, not women, and not friends. Not even Pepper, the only friend he'd made in his fathers world. Eventually, it all left him alone, working desperately to keep the last space he had left, his Dads office, his own.

Then that was taken too, by a man called Iron Man, who thought he was giving Tony what he wanted-peace. Quiet. Space. In reality, he'd just been stealing all that he had left and giving it away. In the end, Tony had a tower that touched the sky, money enough to buy anything, power enough to do anything, and friends that knew him better than anyone. The one thing Tony didn't have was Tony. All he had was his father. He couldn't let him go, and it was killing him.

And then Manhattan happened. And Tony found his quiet.

* * *

People talked about Tony, like people do, and speculated. Tony was a quiet man, and while his reputation and track record didn't show that, his personal life did. Including his relationship with his father. It was the one thing no one talked about. No one understood. They said it was complicated. That it was tough. And that Tony hated to talk about it. So no one asked.

But they were wrong. Tony loved to talk about his father. True enough, Tony and Howard had had a difficult relationship in life, but after his death and the discovery of His World, Tony had a new appreciation for his father. He kept away from his son, not for himself, but for Tony. For Tonys World. For Tony to keep all he had, their worlds could never touch, never cross, never see each other as they were. Howard was a hero, in his own sense, and Tony only figured that out too late.

So no, Tony doesn't hate his father. He didn't drop the weapon side of the company to get back at him. And he doesn't hate talking about Howard. The problem is, everyone else seems to. After Tony took his place, in many people's eyes, Tony became the new Howard. No one wanted to talk about the old Howard, the old Stark Industries, the old anything. Tony was new, Tony was wild, Tony was exciting. Howard was an old drunkard, buried nine feet deep somewhere in Brooklyn. He no longer mattered.

That's why Steve confused Tony. Steve was old too, almost as old as Dear Old Dad, and he'd been buried too. He was old news, a hero of his time but rarely a passing thought now. And yet, the moment he'd been dug up and brought back, he'd bounced right back. Talk burst from every corner of the world, speculations riddled the minds of every man and woman on Earth, scientists were bouncing in their seats with theories on how he survived.

And here Steve was, right in the thick of it, chatting about Howard Stark like they were old pals. Apparently, they were. For once in his life, everything went silent. The talk about Iron Man and Captain America and SHEILD and Stark Industries all fell away under this mans calm certainty that his father had been a hero. It was feeling not even the best alcohol could give him.

"What was he like?", he'd ask, and Steve would tell him, "Like any man, but smarter."

"Did he fight in the war?", he would wonder, and Steve would explain, "Back then, everyone fought, just not all in the same way."

"Was he good?", would get, "Your father was one of the best soldiers I knew, even if he'd never fired a gun."

Tony had lots of questions, and each one Steve answered seriously, not for a second wavering in his answers. Howard was a good person, a hero. It had taken twenty years for Tony to see it, but Steve knew twenty seconds after Howard walked through the door. It made Tony simultaneously ashamed and relieved that someone else believed in the mean, guarded alcoholic too.

Steve had questions too, not just about Howard, but about everything. He was new to this, to the life around him. He was pure, untainted by the loud, unforgiving, counterfeit world Tony now lived in and that now lived in him. And in a second, he understood; Steve was like Tony, before Tony had become Howard.

He was quiet, smart, full of space. Space Tony would be more than happy to have for himself, to take it from him like Howard had taken it from Tony, no matter how much he tried to prevent it. But he wouldn't do that, couldn't. Tony was a lot of things, but not a thief. And most certainly not a hero. But if he could, he'd like to save what was left of himself, in this man from a time when his father had most likely been just the same. The thought made something grow inside of him.

So he refused. Told Steve that it was best not to understand it and that things were different, that they had changed. Instead, he took him to the tower and showed him the workshop and the kitchen and the view from the top floor. And after they were done, he showed him the park. Strangely, Steve liked the park best. Tony thought maybe, a long time ago, he would've too.

Now, though, he was just beginning to feel things again. He was approaching normal, so was Steve. Maybe one day they would get there, but for now, the park was fine. In the background, TV sets in stores chattered and press followed them around the nature walk and people pointed. Tony only halfway noticed.

* * *

After Manhattan, Steve had disappeared. He'd packed up his motorcycle, cleaned out his apartment, and left a nice vase of flowers and a note on the table for Tony. No one else, just Tony. It had a new number, a new address, a new excuse. Tony threw it away, then dug it out, then tossed it again. Eventually, he left it in the kitchen, crumpled and held onto the fridge by magnets. Tony started a new tradition of eating out.

Tony never called, but he never received anything either. He did visit, just once, after he gave his job as CEO to Pepper, publicly quitting and cutting all ties with his fathers business-and also with Pepper. That was more of a private thing, and hard to deal with on his own.

So he went to Steve. Steve was smart about those kinds of things, things dealing with the heart and the head and the soul. Howard and Tony had always been men with hands, not hearts, but Steve had both. Tony was starting to think he could have both, too. He just didn't know if he wanted it yet.

Unfortunately, Steve gave him no choice. When he arrived at the address, he found it to be a hotel, also abandoned, this time with just a letter. New address, new number-no story. Tony felt worried, but at the same time, it was quiet again.

Tony followed the last address to a cafe. There, he found a woman named Pauli, who seemed very angry at him. It took him a long time to get Steve's _real_ address out of her, but when he did, with it came a string of scoldings. In the end, though, she'd sent him off with a hug, a cup of hot chocolate (coffee was for hard men with hard hearts, she'd said), and a bag of biscuits to give to Steve. She'd said nothing of the man, only that she wished he'd tried harder.

Tony understood this when he arrived at Steve's house. It was small and painted light blue, a yellow porch swing hanging outside. The whole thing didn't seem like Steve, but the door was red and that, for some reason, made his heart hurt. Tony thought about knocking, but decided not to. Instead, he sat heavily on the swing and kicked his feet up, letting it swing on its own while he waited.

Eventually, the sound of feet pounding on concrete and a dog barking made him open his eyes. There stood Steve, dressed in red running shorts, a heavy jacket (it was cold outside, but Tony couldn't feel anything with thoughts like Pepper rummaging around in his skull), pulling an earbud out of one ear while he tugged at the leash of a large golden lab at his feet. He looked different, in a small way, but the things that stayed the same were enough to make him get up and run down the steps, Steve meeting him halfway.

Tony buried his face in Steve's neck, arm going around his back and neck and tears making their way down his shirt. Steve wrapped his one free arm around Tonys back and held him just as close. When he pulled away, his face was suspiciously red but Tonys shirt was dry.

Steve invited him in, telling him to put coffee on while he changed. From the bedroom, Steve shouted that the furry brown ball currently trying to eat Tony's shoes was Natalie and that it wasn't his. He was dogsitting for a neighbor while they were away. The lab, though, he revealed when he came back, was. He was a rescue dog and his name was Howard. Steve was red as he explained how Pauli helped him come up with it and how most people just call him Howie and-

Tony didn't care. It was perfect and it reminded Tony of home, of how not perfect it was right now. He'd abandoned his fathers creation, given up his home (both of them), and lost his last remaining friend. Iron Man hadn't made an appearance anywhere in months and the Avengers had ceased calling him during emergencies. Captain America was similarly off the grid and had been for nearly a year now. The world had exploded with panic at first, worry after a week, curiosity a month later, and dull concern after two. Now, he was old news again. Buried somewhere, out of mind. Dead, maybe.

Tony told him about his situation, but was interrupted by a laugh and a report that, yes, he knew about the company and, based on the stiff way Pepper talked to the press about him, he knew about her too. And that she had called him twice to ask if he was there. Tony laughed too. If anyone could find the obscure superhero, it would be Pepper.

"Should I've, though? Left her, I mean? She was a good friend, but-"

"-She was a link to something you're trying to leave behind. I understand.", he said with a nod and Tony knew he really did. "I did the same when I left Manhattan, with you. I felt so bad at the time, but now-now, I think I understand. You, I mean."

Tony furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what I said." Steve sat back on the couch, passing over a cup of joe then resting one arm on the back of the couch above Tonys head and using the other to scratch absently under Howard's chin.

"I didn't understand you, before, at least not fully. Not at all, really. But now, I think I get it-you."

Steve explained. Since he'd left, he'd gone to college. A community college, granted, though he could have gone to a better one. And he'd gotten a medical degree and with it, became a volunteer fireman. He'd met a lot of people at the station, most of them like Tony, pessimistic young men whose lives ended the moment they began. In a sense, they were soldiers and had just as much a chance of dying each day as they would've out on the field. But otherwise, they weren't anything like Steve expected.

They weren't scared, weren't cautious, weren't attached. They were office people, desk jockies, even as they sprayed down fires and carried men, woman, and children out from the ruins. Everyday was a normal day, routine, and even a death on the squad changed little. They were too used to death, too soaked in it, to realize what it was. Steve realized then that it was because they were mortal. They knew it would happen one day and that they couldn't stop it. Steve had grown up believing that bad things only happened to bad people and if that changed, so did the government.

But things _had_ changed. And slowly, Steve was too. He moved, after that. To Bunting, Oklahoma, where he really put his influence and reputation to work to score him a job as a paramedic. He'd had to start out small, just driving the truck or helping the staff, but soon enough he'd been put on rescue duty too.

Steve hadn't been ready for that yet. He'd never lost a soldier before Bucky and after Bucky, there was just ice. But in the ER, a patient was lost at least twice a day, usually more. The first day was tough, and it never really got easier, but the longer he was there, the more he began to understand. The fireman sometimes got there too late and lost a house, a man, a family. The paramedics sometimes didn't get there in time and lost _two_ men at once, one the victim, one the killer. But sometimes they got there early. Sometimes they got there just in time. And sometimes, they got thanked.

But more often than not, news people asked harsh questions, families blamed him for their sons missing limb or lost lung (if not the lost child), and his partner wrote up the medical exams without expression. No one was connected, no one cared, no one understood. Steve tried for a while, but eventually, he just melded in. He stopped letting people in.

"I was lonely, for a long time. Still am. But I think, maybe if I came back, I wouldn't be."

Tony wasn't sure what to say. Steve wasn't making sense and his voice sounded far off. He nodded instead.

"Because you're lonely too. I know you don't think you are, but you are. You have tons of people, all the time, even now-don't say you don't-but you don't care about them. You don't let yourself. That's why you left Pepper. It's why you came here."

"Really?", he whispered, not daring to break the quiet. _This_, he would hear, loud and clear.

Steve moved his arm from the couch and grabbed Tonys hands in his bigger, sweater ones, expression nervous but determined. Confident. A soldier, through and through.

"Tony, I care for you, a lot. And I know you do too. But you have to show it, Tony. You've given me your chance, coming here for help. Let me give you mine."

Tony wasn't sure what to do, wasn't sure how to do that. He felt lost, small, like when he was a child, first learning to read from Howard's instruction manuals. "I-I can't. I need-I need..."

"Help. You need help." Steve grinned, silly but grown up. "Don't worry, I'm a paramedic. That's what I'm here for."

And with that, Steve swooped forward and, well, helped. Suffice to say, Tony appreciated it. And for the first time in a long time, Tony didn't feel like Howard at all. He felt like home.

* * *

A/N: This is actually _really_ old but I didn't like it when I read it, so I just left it to gather dust. A couple of days ago, I re-found it in my gallery of unfinished stuff and was so touched, I didn't do anything to it or with it. Aren't I just so sweet?

Anyway, tell me what you think-too cheesy? Not cheesy enough? Doesn't make sense? I'm a crappy beat writer and need to get with the program? Agreed, 100%. Lets discuss that. Review.

-Cath


End file.
